A Bad FoeMance
by crowEn
Summary: At first Ron is thrilled that a calamitous event has forced the Slytherins out of their dorms, but when he finds out where their temporary residence will be he is anything but amused. DMxRW. not my normal cup of tea, but still entertaining
1. A change of rooms

To call it a great flood would have been deceiving. There was nothing great about the flood that drowned out the Slytherin dungeons, in Ron Weasley's opinion. Sure, the potion's classroom was underwater, but that just meant that Snape was sharing a classroom with Professor Burbage, which did not seem to agree with the old teacher. And sure, there was no way for the whole of Slytherin house to get to their dorms unless they sprouted gills, which was hilarious until the temporary solution to the problem was proposed.

It was in their fourth year of school, the grounds already bustling with the fact that the Triwizard cup had come to Hogwarts and two other schools worth of students were filling the halls. Too many students were in the school already and so when the giant lake squid suddenly decided to crack open the lower regions of the dungeons and expand her home, there were not many choices for where to put the displaced Slytherins.

Ron had always liked Dumbledore, even before he had come to the school, the boy had been told of the wondrously brilliant man that would one day be his headmaster, but during dinner, when the old coot informed the students of his plan, Ron hated that man… or in the very least, highly questioned his sanity.

As the whole of the school was already striving to create ties of friendship between the young witches and wizards of the three different nations, Dumbledore saw it fit that perhaps the students of Hogwarts also try to establish more unity as a school and between the houses. Names would be drawn and one student from each house would be paired with one student from each of the other houses.

Ron stared dumbly along with most of the other children, then the cries of protest drew him from his stupor. The whole of the great hall sounded as if it would rebel against their headmaster. But the old man silenced them with a simple wave of his hand and the shouts grew faint until all that could be heard were the hisses of disapproval from the Slytherin table.

"I know that this will be a great experience for all of us, to learn and grow together." The old man said, leaning forward on his little podium that he always seemed to have for such speeches. "But if we can welcome in strangers from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons with such kindness, surly the same generosity and brotherhood can be extended to a Hufflepuff, a Ravenclaw, a Gryffindor, or a Slytherin." He turned his ever twinkling eyes from table to table in turn. "It will only be for a week or so until the dungeons can be swamped clean and put back together. And by the end of your time together I expect that you will all be somewhat glad of this chance to grow closer to one another."

"Can he do this?" Harry whispered to his friends, and he was not the only one. All food was forgotten as the children all began to talk loudly amongst themselves, arguing, complaining, and theorizing as to where they might go.

"He is the Headmaster." Hermione rolled her eyes. "Besides, he has to put the extra students somewhere."

"But mixing us up like this?" Ron was looking from table to table, trying to decide who the worst roommates could be.

"Well, you couldn't expect him to just put the Slytherins outside in tents."

"Why not?" Ron asked with a grin. "I would."

"Well, you're not Headmaster." Hermione stood, grabbing one last butter scone from the table. "I'm going to see who I've been put with. Hopefully someone who appreciates studying as much as I do."

"No one could like it as much as her," Ron grumbled and was rewarded with a small smile from Harry.

"Come on, Ron. Filtch is handing out room assignments. Let's get this over with," the boy wonder said with his smile still in place.

Ron glumly got up from the table and followed Harry. He did not know how his friends were taking it all so well. This was horrible. He could not think of a worse thing that could happen to them. He stood near the back of the crowd, waiting for his name to be called. He always hated having a name at the end of the alphabet. Harry was given room 16-b in the Ravenclaw tower, but instead of rushing off to see who else might be in that room he stayed behind to wait with Ron.

"Weasley, Ronald." The grounds keeper practically snarled as he looked down his long nose at the smattering of students that remained at the tail end of the alphabet. "Gryffindor, 8-c."

"Ron, that's just down the hall from our old room." Harry clapped his friend on the back, as if to comfort him.

"Brilliant. So I have to drag my trunk down the hall." Nothing could cheer him up.

"At least you don't have to drag it up a tower." Harry started walking and Ron followed on his heels, still sulking. "Come on. Let's get our stuff."

"This is such a bloody rotten deal." He grumbled and made his way to his old room.

The common room was full of rowdy Gryffindors (most annoyed to have to be leaving their rooms) and a cluster of students from other houses who had made their way up the tower quicker than others.

Ron joined Harry in their room to throw all of his stuff into his battered old trunk and drag it down the hall. Harry followed, helping to shove Ron's things along, though the ginger had a feeling his mate was only helping so that he could see who would be in the new room. Justin Finch-Fletchley was setting his stuff down beside the window and smiled at the boys. He awkwardly straightened his Hufflepuff tie and cleared his throat. "I thought it was only one person from each house in a room."

"It is," Harry smiled back awkwardly. "I was just helping Ron move some things."

"Well that's a relief, Potter." Draco's contemptuous voice came from behind the two Gryffindors. "Having to be in this ruddy tower is already an outrage. If I had to share it with you I might just have to leave the school."

Ron whirled around to see the smug little blonde standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his narrow chest. "Keep moving, Malfoy."

"This is my new room, Wezlebee. I suggest you move." A sneer flitted over his thin lips.

Ron felt his face redden with anger and he turned to Harry. "I can't share a room with him, Harry."

"You can do it, Ron." Harry patted his back encouragingly. "It's just for the week."

"You're smiling." Ron accused in a tense whisper. His friend was actually smiling at his miserable fate.

"Sorry, I'm just so glad it's not me."

"Some friend you are." Ron grumbled, even if he didn't mean it. If their situation had been reversed and Harry was the unfortunate one to be bunked with Draco, Ron would have been relieved too… but he would have hidden it a bit better.

"You'll be alright." Harry reassured.

Ron sighed, watching as Malfoy claimed his bed, and had two houselfs settle his trunk and other things in. "Bloody hell, this is going to be a long week," he muttered to himself, not knowing at the time that that first night would be far from the worst.

Harry left them to go find his own room and Ron found himself alone with his new roommates. He did his best to ignore Draco and try and have a civil conversation with Justin and their Ravenclaw addition, Michael Corner, talking about the Girls from Beauxbatons and what a rotten deal all the Hogwarts students had with having to change rooms.

Unfortunately for them, Draco was not the sort who was accustomed to being ignored and without his normal battalion of cronies at his side, he seemed to feel a need to speak up a little extra and make sure that everyone knew he was still there. It was all '_my father'_ this, and '_mudbloods'_ that, and some '_I don't see why us Slytherins should have to share a room with you idiots.'_ It wasn't long before Ron had had quite enough.

"Can it, Malfoy." He finally yelled (much to the surprise, but amusement of the other boys).

The boy's pale cheeks flushed darkly. "Don't you dare talk to me like that or-"

"Or what? You'll tell your Father? That pompous arse isn't going to do a thing. So just shut up, all right? No one wants to hear you anyways." He knew that he should keep his mouth quiet, the first night together was not the time to set the young Slytherin off, it could only make things worse latter on. But Ron was getting tired and he hadn't finished his dinner and he really just hated Draco.

"No one talks to me like that, Weasley."

"Well I just did, so deal with it, you prat."

Malfoy was sputtering; seemingly at a loss for words and Ron felt so victorious in what he thought had been an easy victory. But the silence from Draco had not come from surrender, but rage, and as the small blonde leapt from his bead to punch Ronald in the nose, the boy was reminded of their first year at Hogwarts and the tussle the two of them had had during a quidditch match. Their new roommates proved smart enough to not get between the two boys as they shouted and flailed at each other, but somehow a prefect still found them and pulled them apart.

They were both sent to madam Pomphry and they weren't the only ones with bloodied noses and blackened eyes from the changing of rooms. Ron sat sullenly, holding his red and moist sleeve to his nose and pointedly did not look at where Draco had gone to seat himself in the hospital wing. But even not looking around it was obvious where the Slytherin had gone, somewhere he sat in the big room with people who would show him pity for his mussed hair, ripped tie, and split lip as he loudly complained about how a whole group of Gryffindors had jumped him and tried to rob him.

Madam Pomphry checked Ron over, told him to clean his face and go back to bed. Ron looked at the old and stern woman with pleading eyes. "Can't you say I'm too hurt to go back or something?" He pleaded in a whisper. "Say I got a bum leg or summthin' and I can't make it up the stairs."

"Mr. Weasley, I've got at least twenty other foolish boys to deal with tonight. I suggest you make nice with whomever you are sharing a room with or learn to ignore them until the end of the week." And with that she moved onto the next bed and the next bruised up student.

Ron glumly marched himself back to his new room. 'Ignore Malfoy' she had said, her stupid advice rung in his ears even when he climbed beneath his blankets and tried to go to sleep. He might as well try to ignore the fact that water was wet or that Snape was going to assign extra homework until his mood improved. He knew that there would be no avoiding the situation, but he promised himself as he drifted off to sleep that he would do his best to ignore the complete jerk that was Draco Malfoy and at least until dawn he found himself to be quite successful.


	2. The card

It was the second night of Draco's banishment to the blasted Gryffindor tower and he had been surprising able to almost pay attention to his classes and almost ignore his new roommates. It was after dinner and he had cloistered himself away inside of his bed with the curtains closed to block out the stupid yammering of idiotic rubes beyond.

With clumsy, ink stained fingers, he unwrapped another chocolate frog, shoving its kicking legs in his mouth first to keep it from escaping him, and returned to his 'history of magic' scroll which needed to be three feet long by tomorrow morning.

"Do it, Ron. Do it."

Draco could hear the dumb Hufflepuff coaxing the dumber Gryffindor. They had been playing an obnoxiously loud game of wizard's chess for the last two hours and the Slytherin did not know if he could take any more of their shouting. _Who yells during chess anyways?_ Sighing deeply he fumbled around for something to throw at them. He could care less what they were doing out there, some people had homework to do (though truth be told, Draco had never been studious; he simply had nothing else to do other than homework). Without thinking he grabbed up the packaging from his chocolate frog and tossed it through a gap in his curtains. "Keep it down, you wankers."

"Yeah, we're disrupting his beauty sleep. We better be quiet." Weasley's annoying voice drifted back to him, but by the mocking tone Malfoy had a feeling that they were not exactly serious about keeping quiet. And they didn't. The riotous game of chess continued for another half hour until Weasley could be heard loudly gloating about yet another triumph with his shabby secondhand chess set.

"Come on, guys," Justin's annoying, yet almost quiet voice flitted in to Draco, "it's getting late. We better get to bed."

Draco rolled his eyes. Those fools had already settled in with each other like a happy, little family. It was disgusting. Didn't they know that they were being forced into proximity by a dodgy old man who was trying to torture them all? The only consolation he had in life was that his idiot roommates would be going to bed and he could finally have some peace and quiet. He started to roll up his history scroll and get out a bit of parchment for a letter to his father when his roommates decided that they did not actually want to quiet themselves down and go to sleep. But what had he really expected from a Gryffindor? They wouldn't know how to be quiet if they were paid… though the thought had merit. He was sure that Weasley could use the money to buy food for his parents or proper shoes or something or other. Maybe cash would shut him up.

"Who had the chocolate frog?" Ron was crinkling paper and making so much ungodly noise it was a wonder that a house prefect hadn't come to check on them.

"Er, I think that's what Malfoy chucked at us."

"Bloody hell… is this-"

"Ron, don't tell us you still collect those things?" Justin was laughing.

"Shut up, this is a Grindelwald. A GRINDELWALD." Ron was almost shouting.

Draco felt his stomach drop. He was no longer worried about his scrolls or letting his father know of the unfairness of the Headmaster. Draco had not even looked at the card from his chocolate frog and in his haste to find a projectile he had inadvertently given up a card that he had been looking for since he was eight years old. All decorum aside, he threw back his bed dressings and leapt into the middle of the room. "Drop it, Weasel."

Ron's pale eyes glinted in amusement. "Or what, Draco? You plan to tickle me?"

Draco felt a look of disgust pass over his face. "Why would I-" then he saw his outstretched hand and the traitorous thing was not pointing a wand as he had thought, but his inky homework quill. He threw the offending feather to the floor and instead pointed with a menacing finger. "The card. Hand it over, or else."

"You threw it. S'mine now, Malfoy."

"Drop it!" Draco was done talking. That card would complete his extensive collection and he _would_ have it back.

"Make me!" The redhead challenged.

And that was all the invitation Draco needed. He launched himself at the taller boy, grappling for the card that Weasley kept from his grasp with his disproportionately long, freckled arms. Under normal circumstances Draco would have been able to hold his own, normally Weasley would have been clumsy and uncoordinated. But the unspeakably rare card had made them both desperate men. They fought like mad, all elbows and knees, both of which the Gryffindor seemed to have an unnatural amount of.

It was around the point that he felt the teeth of the ginger sink into his arm that Draco was sure he was done for, but with a well aimed knee into Ron's most sensitive area the other boy crumbled. Draco pulled the slightly bent Grindelwald card from the Gryffindor's shaking hand and stood triumphantly. And if Draco had been anyone else he would have known that such dirty fighting would not work well for him in the long run. True, the other two boys from the other two houses were looking at him and his lethal knee with horror and respect. He nodded smugly to them, and then to Weasley too before climbing back in bed and closing his curtains.

"Are you alright, mate?" "Want us to get the nurse?" the boys were checking on Ron with worried voices.

"Bloody git." Ron was breathing harshly, but the anger in his tone far outweighed the pain.

Draco grinned to himself and secreted his reclaimed card beneath his pillow. It might not be a long lived victory, but it was still his. He spent an hour or so laying in the quiet of his bed, wand in hand as he waited for the moment that Ron would throw open his curtains and try to exact vengeance, but the curtains did not so much as rustle and soon the room sounded deeply asleep and Draco could not help but join them.

Before the sun had the chance to peek through the windows of the tower, Draco was roused from his sleep by a strangely elated noise from somewhere in the dark beyond his bed. Immediately he slipped a hand beneath his pillow, grasping for his card, but there was nothing there besides air and sheets. He peered through the curtains with his steely grey eyes and there was Ronald Weasley, tucking away a shiny (though slightly crumpled) Grindelwald card into a battered, old, fudge tin.

"What exactly do you think you're doing there, Weasel?" Draco pulled his dressing gown tightly around his narrow shoulders and slipped from his bed.

"Nuthin." Weasley clutched the tin to his chest, protective and stubborn.

"Give it back." Draco was tired and not in the mood for a fight, for once.

"Let's make a deal."

"A what?" He hissed.

"You chucked this card at my head, anyone would agree that you basically gave it to me." He seemed almost smug and he held tightly to the tin.

"No, they wouldn't." He held his hand out for his card. He wouldn't go back to bed without it.

"So…. You're a spoiled brat and if you collect these too you probably have some real good ones." Ron had a calculating glint in his eyes that made Draco question what house the boy should have been sorted into. "So, I am willing to trade you this incredibly rare Grindelwald card for an Agrippa and a Ptolemy."

"What makes you think I have either of those?"

"Oh, right. I guess you never had the money to buy enough chocolate frogs to find those cards."

Draco sputtered. Was Weasley really calling him _poor?_ "I have three Agrippas and more Ptolemys than I know what to do with." He sneered. It was sort of a lie, but Ron didn't need to know that.

"Well, let's see them then." Ron stood up, coming almost nose to nose with Draco, using his few extra inches of height to loom ever so slightly over the Slytherin.

Draco set his jaw, glairing up at the boy who had the card which would complete his collection. "My cards are with the rest of my things, in the flooded dungeons." Draco bore his teeth, still sore about the fact that all of his school things were under a few feet of stinking lake water.

"They will be fine, they're enchanted. I want those cards, Malfoy." They were close enough that they were sharing each other's breath and to Draco, it was almost nauseating.

"How about this, Weasel, you go get those cards out of the dungeon and you can have any two cards you want."

They looked at each other and slowly Ron nodded. "Let's go."

"Go?" Draco raised one platinum eyebrow. "Go where, it's midnight."

"Well, we can't get down there during the day and I want to settle this… tonight."

Draco was sure that he argued, he was positive that he told Ron off, told him to die in a fire… and yet… and yet, somehow he found himself, clutching his robe tightly over his school uniform as he tried to keep the chill away and following Ron's unsightly orange hair down into the lowest levels of the school.

The two boys stood side by side looking into the murky, waist deep water from their safe and dry vantage point on the staircase. Ron was losing his nerve, by the doubting expression on his face and Draco was losing his patience.

"The common room door is open." Draco pointed down the dim hallway to a gap in the wall. "Go on, get your cards, Weasel."

Ron turned from the dark water and looked at Draco, wrinkling his long nose. "You first, I don't bloody know where your room is."

"I know that you don't have a concept of how much new school uniform, or silk robes cost, because it's obvious that you have never had any—but there is no way I am getting in that cold, filthy water. You were the one who wanted the cards," he took a step closer, "go get them." He shoved the Gryffindor as hard as he could, but he had over guessed his own strength and not only did Ron not yield to his push, but was frighteningly quick to turn on him. Ron's hands were on his chest, pushing towards the end of the moist stairs and his feet were no longer beneath him. He twisted his ankle on the first submerged step and Draco followed, the frigid water flowing up over his head. He stood sputtering and choking on lake water to the obnoxious laughter of Ron Weasley ringing in his ears. The only thing that saved the ginger from immediate death was that for some inexplicable reason, Draco had left his wand behind in their room.

Ron trudged into the water afterwards, sending dark ripples in his wake as he sloshed towards the dark entrance to the Slytherin dormitory. "Keep it down, will ya? We don't wanna get caught by Filch from all your screaming and splashing." He said smugly as he passed.

Draco debated the best way and place to drown Ron as they moved quietly through the dormitory to Draco's waterlogged room. They splashed and dove, searching in the dark for Draco's trunk and really, the boy did not think that anyone could blame him when his cold, wet hands found Ron's hair beneath the water and pushed downward. There was some anticlimactic wave that barely broke the surface and while Draco lazily debated when would be the best time to let go, a hand caught his hip and what could only be a fist collided with his groin. He double over, holding himself and gasping in air while he tried not to choke on the deep water.

Ron surfaced, gasping, but grinning, showing all of his teeth in a sort of manic triumph. When they could both breath regularly Draco fought to give a sort of 'in control' expression in the painful and cold situation. He could see that Ron was still smiling, and now holding a soggy, leather-bound card collection book to his chest.

"I think we're even now, you arse." Ron shook water from his hair and nodded to the door. "Now let's get out of here before someone catches us."

Draco made the red-head lead the way, so that his pained swagger would remain undetected and the two boys slunk back up into their room leaving tell tale puddles as they went.

Shedding his sopping and ruined clothes, Draco pulled on his dressing gown and glared at Ron who did not have the decency to redress beyond tossing aside his dripping clothes and pulling on a pair of dull, maroon boxers. The boy sat, perched on the edge of his bead in the light of one dimly guttering candle as he looked through Draco's prize card collection and pulled out his ill gotten booty, replacing Agrippa and Ptolemy with the slightly bent Grindelwald and tossing the book across the room to its owner.

Draco caught it clumsily. It was now almost three in the morning. He was cold, sore and so very tired. When Ron shot him a lopsided smile and bid him goodnight, he didn't know what to do other than grunt in response and crawl into bed and try to get in some quality sleep before the sun came up.


	3. A bad potion

It was Tuesday and Ron stood in the makeshift potion's room, looking grimly at the small tables, one of which was already occupied by Harry and Hermione. They had partnered together before their friend could even get into the class room. He wanted to join them them and cast his gaze about for an empty chair he could use, but Snape's cold voice stopped him in his tracks.

"If Mr. Weasley could be so kind as to take his seat, perhaps we could begin?" Snape snarled from the front of the class.

"But Professor, there aren't any empty desks."

Snape's lips had become a very thin, angry line and his dark eyes glinted. "Mr. Zabini, you are on your own, and Weasley, you will partner with Malfoy."

"M-Malfoy?" Ron didn't understand why he couldn't be the one to sit on his own. He looked to his smirking roommate and felt his eyebrows furrow. "Can't I just join up with Harry and Hermione?" He sort of shuffled his feet towards his friends who had the decency to look sympathetic towards his plight.

"Fifty points from Gryffindor for taking up class time arguing with me." The professor started to scrawl across the chalkboard the day's lesson, he did not even look at Ron, though he continued to speak. "If you wish to remain standing in the center of the room, gaping like a hung fish, perhaps you would also like to volunteer to answer a few decidedly complicated questions about lacefly wings and Hungarian moon-blossoms?"

"No, sir." He flung himself into the chair beside Malfoy before Snape's threat became something more than idle. He couldn't bring himself to look at his partner's smug face, '_just focus on the potion',_ he silently repeated over and over. As the class progressed he realized what a challenge he had before him. Draco had never really had trouble in potions class, Ron couldn't recall any time in the last four years that he heard Snape raise his voice to the pale, pureblood in criticism.

And yet, Ron found Draco adding the wrong proportions of various ingredients as if on purpose. He didn't want to start a fight, not with how quick Snape had been to take points from Gryffindor since the flood, but he dreaded to think of what the man might say when he saw how horrifically wrong their potion was starting to look.

"Malfoy, knock it off." He hissed under his breath, elbowing the boy who was liberally adding something red and leafy and not at all on the list of ingredients.

"Don't touch me, Weasel." He elbowed back, catching Ron painfully in the ribs. "You'll get me dirty."

"You're doing it wrong, Malfoy." Ron pushed Malfoy's hands away from their angrily boiling cauldron. "You're going to get us in trouble." But what he meant was 'you're going to get _me_ in trouble'… and they both knew it was true. The brew had started to bubble uncontrollably, spilling down the sides of Draco's shiny cauldron. Ron, in an attempt to save the potion and himself, grabbed the nearest container he could find and quickly began ladling the excess potion out.

But that container had not been wholly empty, and whatever had been at the bottom of the glass jar was not pleased to be mixed with the wayward potion. It turned a sickly green and started to froth over the side, numbing his fingers and smelling oddly of beets.

Malfoy was laughing quietly, sniggering into his sleeve as he tried to keep his voice down, most likely in an attempt to prolong their time together before Snape realized what had happened. "Le'me help you with that." He offered, ladling another thick spoonful of their potion into the small jar that Ron was holding with a panicked expression on his face.

"Stop it, Malfoy. You're making it worse." The bubbling and now hissing liquid was dripping over his fingers, the table top and onto the floor. Before the Slytherin could be more helpful, Ron pushed the jar into his hands. But Draco did not hold onto the jar shoved at him and it slipped and fell into his lap. Then it was Ron's turn to laugh, and much to his surprise, Malfoy joined him.

They were both laughing uncontrollably by the time Snape pulled himself away from berating Longbottom (whose own cauldron had melted). "Weasley, what have you done this time?"

"It was- it was Malfoy." Ron forced between giggles. "He was putting in dried blood worms or something."

"No, it wasn't me." Draco was laughing so hard he seemed to be having trouble getting enough breath and his normally pale cheeks were flushed a soft rosy color.

Snape looked over their churning cauldron and he strange smelling liquid that covered both of the boys. "You two will go to Madam Pomphry at once. Somehow our brilliant mister Weasley has made a hysteria potion."

"It was- it was Malfoy." Ron was doubled over now, feeling tears running down his freckled cheeks.

"Go." Snape was pointing with annoyance towards the door.

Ron stumbled to his feet, clutching his stomach and laughing his way towards the matron's office, Malfoy on his heels, both cackling as they fell over each other on their way up to the hospital wing.

The matron was furious when she saw their breathless state and made them sit down before they passed out.

Ron was clutching his stomach, trying to fight back the fits of laughter that were making it increasingly harder to breath. Draco was in almost as bad of shape but still somehow managing enough air to make jokes about Ron's freckles and potion ineptitude. It only made Ron laugh harder, even though under normal circumstances it would have won the Slytherin a punch in the face.

Madam Pomphry forced down their throats a sombering draught which tasted (for lack of a better word) depressing. The laughter dried up quickly and both boys were left morose and empty feeling as their pervious joy dissipated. The Matron made them sit down on two of the clean, freshly made beds, so that she could keep an eye on them until dinner time.

Ron had never felt so melancholy as he sat, shoulders slumped, looking at his scuffed shoes. He knew it was just the potion that they had been made to drink, but it was as if all of the happiness had been sucked out of him. He risked a glance at Malfoy to see if he was in the same sorry state, and sure enough the other boy's mouth had been turned down in a small disapproving arch and his fine silvery eyebrows were knitted together as if in concentration. Ron opened his mouth to say something scathing, blaming Draco for them being sent to the hospital and missing the end of class… then he remembered that he really, really, really, hated Snape's class and was almost grateful to have been sent away, without even any points deducted. He felt some of his previous mirth returning and he flopped back onto his bed, looking up at the ceiling.

"This is your fault, Weasel." Draco mumbled after an hour of waiting in silence, as if not ready to give up on his previous blame-game.

Ron slowly sat up, feeling almost back to normal, his inner emotions somewhat leveling out. "Shut it."

But Draco, never being one to take orders from poor people (especially if they were Gryffindors), only lifted his nose into the air so as to better look down on Ron. "If you hadn't added the potion to that beaker we wouldn't be on timeout in the nurse's office."

"If you hadn't been adding all of that rubbish we wouldn't have made that… whatever it was, anyways." Ron retaliated smartly, because if they were going to start blaming each other he was more than ready.

"It wasn't rubbish, it was improvisation. You're the one who started putting it in a beaker of bezoar powder, and everyone knows what happens when you add crushed bezoars to flubberworm mucus-"

" You condescending git, how was I suppose to know that there were bezoars in that beaker, much less what would happen if I added it to all that-"

"A wizard should know better!" Malfoy cut him off, standing up off his bed to loom over Ron as best as he could. "Any idiot first year should have known better."

But Ron had a feeling that Draco was just making this all up and it had all been as much a surprise to him as it had been to Ron. He stood now too, taller than Malfoy by almost a whole head. "Listen you little-"

Suddenly Madam Pomphry was pushing them apart and towards the doors. "I won't have either of you fighting in my hospital wing. Now down to the great hall with both of you and eat something."

"Yes, Mam." Ron muttered to the door that she slammed in their faces. He turned and walked with his quietly growling stomach, in the direction of the great hall and tried to stay ahead of Malfoy, not wanting to have to talk to him anymore if possible. He hadn't realized how hungry he had gotten just sitting around in the hospital and the only thing he really wanted was to just sit down with Harry and Hermione and eat and pretend that he hadn't just recovered from giggling fits with his slimy new roommate.

So overly concerned as he was in getting away from Malfoy and stuffing his face that he didn't even notice when one of the marble staircases choose to rearrange itself as soon as he lifted a foot to step down from the landing. He started to tumble forward and the only thought through his mind was how disappointing it would be to fall so far and die before having a chance to see the end of the tri-wizard tournament. Arms twined round his waist and pulled him back to the landing and Ron was left gasping, heart pounding with adrenaline and cradled against Draco Malfoy. Their eyes met for only the briefest of moments before they both looked as disgusted as they could manage and let go of each other. Ron didn't have it in him to say thank you to Malfoy, but he had a feeling that the Slytherin would prefer to just pretend that he hadn't just saved his life anyways. So they remained still on their landing, waiting for the stairs to rearrange again. Ron only risked a single glance at the other boy and they exchanged a sneer and a scoff and went back to waiting in silence.

Finally the stairs moved for them and they walked on opposite sides of the steps and down to the dining hall and parted ways.

Ron settled in beside Harry and started heaping biscuits and turkey onto his plate.

"You need to be more careful with your potions." Hermione scolded just as Harry asked "Are you all right?"

"Yeah." He said around a mouthful of food. "Madam Pomphry kept us until after six just to be sure, but I feel fine."

"Six? What took you so long to get down here? You almost missed dinner." Hermione said matter of factly.

Ron momentarily debated telling his friends about the wayward stairs and Malfoy saving him, but he realized how ridiculous it sounded to paint the git as a 'nice guy' and opted instead to just mumble around his food in an incoherent response, take a swallow of pumpkin juice and ask Harry how his golden egg and preparation for the second task was going.

A/n: sorry for such a long wait, I am normally so much more punctual T_T . but thanks all the same for all of the favs and watches and I will try to be a bit faster in the future.


	4. A funny feeling

an: I... I'm just going to leave this right here.

* * *

><p>"It must be awful."<p>

"It's bloody, awful." Draco said with a drawn out sigh. "More awful than you could even imagine." He smoothed his hands over his silken hair and nodded to Blaize, appreciating the mild sympathy he was getting for it was the first he had had in days. "I can't believe that professor Snape made him and I pair up. It was complete torture."

Blaize nodded quietly over the book he was reading for Astronomy. It was Wednesday evening and the two Slytherin's had taken refuge in the library to try and get a bit of studying far away from the chaos that remained in each of the mixed dorm rooms. Though truthfully Blaize was doing most of the studying as Draco seemed to be too preoccupied with complaining about Ronald Weasley to focus on the old leather bound tomes.

"Did you know that he snores too?"

"Yes, you mentioned it earlier." The small threads of sympathy seemed to be all but spent and it looked as though there would only be more studying for the rest of their stay. Malfoy felt his eyebrows draw together in frustration and he turned back to his own book. He knew that eventually Madam Pince would find them in their corner and send them back to their dorms but he was determined to try and get the most of his time until then.

Sure enough, less than an hour later the elderly woman, with her pinched and wrinkled face, peered at them over her spectacles and ordered them to leave so that she could close up for the night. Draco parted ways with his friend at the steps to the Ravenclaw tower before tromping the rest of the way on his own, up the shifting staircase and past the unpleasant painting of the Fat Lady who kept watch over the Gryffindor common rooms. Draco steeled himself against the noise and the visually painful clash of mixed house colors and he quickly strode up to his room.

In hind sight, perhaps he should have knocked, but Draco Malfoy was not in the habit of seeking admittance to his own bedroom. Although the truth was difficult to face, that night was not the first, nor would it be the last time that his delicate eyes were assaulted with the vision of a disrobed Ronald.

The redhead stood, stripped down to a pair of faded boxers, seemingly distracted in the midst of changing clothes, too caught up in a story he was telling to pull on the pajamas that lay over the foot of his bed. Ron stood there bare chested, freckled and hair a mess, explaining something to Justin that involved lots of jumping about and over exaggerated arm movements.

Draco sneered. "Did you get confused halfway through dressing Weasley? The shirt goes on over your head... You do have a shirt don't you, or could your poor parents not afford to buy you one?"

"Shut up, Malfoy." Ron sneered out somewhat inarticulately, somewhat distracted at being interrupted in the middle of his story.

"Do us all a favor and put it on. The glair off of your lily white gut is blinding." He lay back on his bed, kicking off his highly polished shoes and letting them tumble to the floor noisily.

"Oh shut it, Malfoy." Ron repeated and turned his back on the Slytherin, resuming his story with all of its wild gesticulations and sound effects.

A look of disgust passed over Draco's narrow face and he tucked his legs up beneath him as he tried to find a comfortable place in the oddly lumpy Gryffindor bed. He knew that he had to find a way to ignore Weasly's wild dancing about and simply focus on the book he had taken from the library if he were to finish his homework that night. Though try as he might, the flashes of pale waving arms and the loud laughter of the other boys was oddly distracting.

In time, Draco found himself lying on his side, back to the rest of the room, desperately trying to read his book with gritted teeth and nose crinkled in annoyance. Was there any chance that the overly long and drawn out story would end before midnight? Draco had his doubts. Not much time passed before he realized that as long the ginger remained in the midst of his story that there would be no way to focus on his studies.

"Enough." He finally shouted, tossing aside the book and rolling off his bed. He marched himself across the room and snatched up Weasly's hideous maroon sweater that lay ignored on the bed and caught one the wildly flailing hands before it could clout him over the head. Draco thrust the knitted monstrosity into the startled grip and stared up at Ron with dangerously narrowed eyes. "I don't care if you sleep, just shut up and cover up. No one wants to see this." He nodded with a thinly veiled sneer to Weasley's blatant albeit partial nudity. His pale eyes made their way back up to the startled, freckled face above his own. Neither of them moved for many long, drawn out moments and as the seconds dragged on, Draco suddenly became increasingly aware that in one hand he still gripped onto the scratchy red sweater that was quickly irritating his skin and (distressingly) his other hand had remained tightly clasped to Ron's warm and surprisingly muscled arm.

"Fine, whatever, just go away." Ron came out of their shared stupor first and pulled away from the weak grip, turning partially away from Draco and tugging the sweater on over his disheveled hair. He looked down at Draco who was still too close and Draco, surprisingly found himself unable to say anything in reply. "Well?" Ron demanded.

Draco felt a bit out of sorts, something in the vicinity of his stomach felt too light, too empty and not at all as it should feel. Weasley was still looking down at him expectantly, as if waiting for the snide reply that should have been instant. "W-well what, Weezlebee?" The words came automatically and clumsily to his lips without him really even knowing what he was saying. He tried to shake off the peculiar feeling that he did not seem to know the name of

"You 'wanna get out of my face, Malfoy?" Ron had lowered his voice, his eyes narrowing as he leaned down towards Draco, bringing their faces closer together despite the counter productiveness of the action.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Draco said in the harshest, most distasteful tone he could manage. He was doing his best to maintain the dangerously close glair, but his traitorous eyes seemed to be determined to slip downward and lingered in places that no eyes should ever linger. Unbidden to his imagination came the recently lost image of Ron's bare chest and the fresh memory repulsed him just as much as it made the peculiar feeling in his stomach worsen.

Ron leaned down even more, bringing their faces only a few scarce inches apart. "You are standing too close." He said his words slowly, enunciating a bit too clearly as if talking to a slow child.

"Oh- shut up." Draco turned away quickly, feeling a little overly warm and a little overly inarticulate at that moment. He returned to his bed without another word, pulling the curtains tight behind him to shut out the rest of the room. He pressed his hands to his cheeks and they felt hot beneath his fingertips. Something was wrong with him; he knew that there must be, for there could be no other explanation for the way he felt.

Beyond the curtains Ron resumed his story and despite the droning noise that would undoubtedly keep him awake and too distracted to read, Malfoy remained hidden in his bed. He moved one hand from his burning cheeks down to his flip-flopping belly as he tried to will his body back under control. His thoughts chased each other endlessly, moving too fast for him to really grasp, making him feel dizzy and marginally confused. The only thing he was sure of was that, unbidden, the sharp memory of Ron kept creeping back to the forefront of his thoughts. The way his arm had felt under Draco's hand, the way his pale chest moved while he breathed, the sharp scent of herbs and the gentler scent of mint that may have been toothpaste or something else that Draco could not quite place. He had never in his life thought so much about the inane little details of another person and certainly never about someone so poor.

The hand that still lingered on his cheek slipped slowly towards his lips and Draco hardly noticed that his fingertips still smelled of Ron's skin. His eyes fluttered closed and sleep slowly overcame him as the soft sounds of Ron's story continued from the other end of the room, ferrying him off to sleep with the most unconventional sort of lullaby, welcoming in the most unconventional sort of dreams.


	5. A well rehearsed line

AN: In case someone didn't know, this is a story about boys who will be kissing other boys. This is your last chance to get out because it's all down hill from this point on.

* * *

><p>Ron was lost to his own dreams that night and he woke with only the smallest fleeting whispers of the images taunting his addled mind. A sliver of light burned through the small parting in his bed dressings and he knew that morning had come, though the peaceful silence of the bedroom told him that dawn was still fresh enough that none of his roommates had yet to wake. Sleepily he rubbed his eyes, wondering why his body had decided to rise at the crack of dawn. He stretched and rolled from his side to his back, hopping to settle in and claim an hour or so more sleep before getting up for breakfast and classes.<p>

Something odd caught his eyes and he felt his face redden in embarrassment at the awkward tenting in the blankets between his hips. It had been happening more and more often to him when he woke and he had quickly learned that it was a problem best ignored or dealt with very quietly. School would be no exception from this plan. His family wasn't just outside his room (which had been one of his biggest troubles when the problem had started two summers ago at home) but he had a feeling that his shared bedroom would be just as touchy of an operation.

He rolled back onto his side and pressed his face into the pillow while he tried to reclaim the last vestiges of his dream. There was something about soft blonde hair and pearly white skin and Ron briefly tried to distract himself with thoughts of the lovely Beaubatton student Flure, but her delicate, full lips did could not quite match the thin, smirking mouth from his dream. Whatever lingering ghosts from that night seemed to fly apart as he focused on that bitter mouth, not caring who it may belong to and not caring to dwell on the string of memories to accompany those particular lips.

He gasped out his completion into the muffling softness of his pillow and lazily wiped his hands on the sheets. Sleep returned, unbidden and easy only to be interrupted a few hours later when the other boys awoke and readied themselves for the day. Ron roused himself and straightened his clothes, with only the dimmest of memories from the morning's distraction to explain away why they were out of place to begin with.

Ron pulled himself out of bed and smiled happily at the others, laughing and joking with the other two boys, completely ignoring the tightly closed draperies around Draco's bed. '_Let him sleep late'_, Ron thought bitterly, remembering the awkward fight from the night before when the Slytherin had insisted that he dress. Ron hated having his stories interrupted, it reminded him of Hermione who could never seem to let him finish a story once started and seemed to take a personal joy in stopping him just when he got to the good parts. He fervently hopped that Draco did not intend to make it a habit.

He tromped noisily down to breakfast and sat beside Harry, not waiting for the last member of their trio before grabbing a handful of toast and kippers.

"I can't believe it's still not Friday." Harry bemoaned, poking at a sausage.

"Frrf-ay?" Ron asked around his mouthful of toast. He swallowed loudly. "Mate, you can't be having that bad of a time in your new room. I was the one who got stuck with that slimy git."

"It's not bad at all. I just can't wait to get to Hoggsmead."

Ron felt simultaneously stupid as well as elated. Somehow he had forgotten that tomorrow was the first Hoggsmead trip of the year. "It's going to be great." Ron grinned broadly. "I hear at Zoncko's they have new-"

"You can't really be intending to go into that madhouse." Hermione sat down beside him and started in on some tediously long reason as to why he would be completely foolish to step foot into such a dangerous store and how they were practically adults and had no time to waste on such childish things as dung bombs and their like… or some rubbish along those lines. Ron honestly checked out shortly after she started in on 'responsibility'.

Ron let his eyes drift about the dining hall while he shoveled kippers into his mouth. On the far side of the room he could see a collection of Slytherin's all snickering, clustered together and smug in their superiority. Ron found himself vacantly watching the students… or student, one in particular who had suffered some sort of growth spurt recently and now his platinum hair could easily be seen over the other's heads. Ron remembered the night before, standing almost nose to nose with Draco, but even then he had had to lean down bring their faces that close to level. Their little quarrel played over in his mind again.

It had been stupid really, '_Why would Draco care if I'm dressed or not?_' Ron just could not understand that boy, why Malfoy could not just leave well enough alone was beyond him. Somehow, from across the room, despite all the bodies in the way and the overall din of hundreds of students talking at once, Draco Malfoy seemed to sense that someone was watching him. Their eyes met suddenly and Ron watched as bright rosy spots blossomed on Malfoy's pale cheeks. Ron scowled at him, pulling a face, going so far as to even stick his tongue out slightly. He was rewarded with the small rosettes spreading further until the Slytherin's whole face shone an unflattering vermillion. Draco stood up, his hands fretting over his tie in a very peculiar way. Ron wanted more than anything to see what the boy would do next, but just at that moment Hermione pulled him back into her lecture, drawing his attention back to her with a sharp poke to his unprotected ribs.

"Are you even listening to me, Ronald?" She grumped next to him.

"Yeah yeah, we need to be a good example." He waved her off and looked back to the Slytherin table, wanting to continue his staring contest, but Malfoy was nowhere to be seen and Ron was left in the dark as to the strange exchange.

His day passed by without much note other than almost having a head-on collision with a heard of Beaubatton girls and the resulting panic attack that left him a stuttering shell of a man for the rest of his lunch period, despite Harry's attempts to assure Ron that it would not be the end of the world. By dinner time the brunt of his anxiety had passed and it almost seemed if things could one day be alright again. Ron ate dinner with his friends, trying his best to ignore Hermione's pestering lectures on house elf rights and how Harry should be working harder to solve the riddle of his golden egg for the second task.

Ron was sad when the time came for him to go back to the Gryffindor rooms, knowing that he would have to somehow interact with Malfoy, despite how hard he tried to avoid it. Sure enough, there on the edge of his own bed, was Malfoy, scrawling with impeccable handwriting on a scroll, undoubtedly homework of sorts. Ron had no idea that Malfoy was so studious, but he had never paid much attention to the other boys' academic nature.

The other boys were nowhere to be seen and Ron inwardly cursed himself for coming up to the room too early, but if he backed out of the room now Malfoy would have something snide to say and Ron did not feel up to a fight. Despite all else, Ron was still slightly stunned from his earlier run in with the Beaubattons. He walked quietly, hopping to remain unnoticed and simply go to bed. The sooner he went to sleep the sooner he could wake in the morning and go with the others to Hoggsmead.

Thought it was shocking, Malfoy seemed almost ready to let Ron retire without as much as a jibe at his freckles. It would have been the first time since meeting each other that Draco would let Ron off the hook, but it was not to be. The balance of the universe had not suddenly tipped, the laws of nature had not suddenly be rewritten and Draco Malfoy was not about to give Ron any measure of peace.

"You had better watch where you sit, Weasel. There's a bit of a mess on your bed." He managed to say it without even looking up from his parchment.

Ron stopped short of his bed and looked at the small tale tell smear and felt his cheeks instantly burn. "The hell, Malfoy. Mind your own business for once."

"This is my business. You can't be doing things like that in _my_ room. It's highly unsanitary. Does your mother know what you've been doing? I'm sure it would break her poor little heart if she knew her little baby Ronni-kins was such a wanker." Malfoy managed the whole tirade without so much as looking up from his home work. It was so clean and emotionless, as if he had been practicing the whole thing, just waiting for the moment that Ron would come upstairs.

Ron's ears felt hot. "Come off it Malfoy, it's not like you've never tossed one off." He managed to say from between clenched teeth, trying his hardest not to let embarrassment and Draco win. He turned to look down at the slimy git and to his satisfaction he saw a painful looking blush spread over Draco's pale, aristocratic cheeks. "Get off your high horse and leave me alone for once."

"I-I never once. Don't try to drag me down to your level of-of disgustingness." The red of his face darkened as a stutter broke at Draco's voice.

Ron managed to look down his nose in disbelief at the other boy and then the absurdity of it hit him. How was he even having this conversation with Draco and why? What next, would they be comparing wand lengths?

And Ron laughed.

Not a quiet and demure laugh.

Not even a restrained chuckle.

He laughed like he remembered Sirius laughing. It was the loud barking laugh of a man on the edge of madness and the sound startled him so that he kept laughing, laughing until he had to sit down. Perhaps the day had been too much for him and the run in earlier with the lovely ladies was actually a sign of the end of the world, despite what Harry had told him.

"Are you… are you laughing at me?" Draco raised his voice over Ron's cackling giggles and though Ron wanted to deny it, one look at the other boy's indignant face was enough to set him off again, successfully choking off any reply he might have had.

"You are! You sodding git." Malfoy pushed aside his homework and stood, closing the distance between the two of them in only a few agitated steps. Ron tried to stand, not wanting Draco to loom over him, but the other boy quickly shoved him back down with rough hands to the shoulders. "People don't laugh at me, Weasely." His blush had left, leaving his face as pale and serious as usual, and just like that Ron's laughter died away too.

"You started it, Malfoy." He said, trying again to stand, but he was quickly pushed back down. He just could not seem to find the leverage needed to get up off his soft but lumpy bed. "Damn it. Knock it off."

"No one laughs at a Malfoy. No one. Apologize." He demanded.

Ron could not help himself, the absurdity caught up with him again. "Everyone laughs at you. You're a slimy, conniving, bastard. I'm **not** apologizing."

Draco pushed him again, almost hard enough to knock him on his back. "You will say you're sorry, and then I'm going to hex you into oblivion, you filthy blood traitor."

The whole exchange had started off badly the moment Draco had opened his mouth. This was by no means abnormal, but Ron really had not expected it to go downhill so very quickly. He quickly reached into his robes, but his wand was not in his pocket and Ron remembered that he left it in his school bag and he had dropped that beside the door when he came in the room. He looked up at Draco, and instantly he was back in the previous night only their positions had been reversed. They were so close together again, Draco clinging roughly to his shoulders, ready to shove him for the umpteenth time and Ron found himself looking up into those cold, silver eyes.

"Say it." Malfoy tightened his grip, tugging Ron's robes taunt over his shoulders.

"I'm not apologizing, you little prick. Now let go before I hurt you." It was a rare thing for him, but for just a moment he was willing to allow his inner diplomat to show through his anger and embarrassment and give Malfoy a chance to save himself from the worse pummeling of his life.

But Draco hit him first, not a proper punch, or even a slap, but a right smart, openhanded chop to his neck. Apparently Draco did not care for threats anymore than Ron did, or maybe he was simply tired of waiting for the apology that would never come. Ron did not care to debate the reasons with himself, not with his throat stinging and Draco readying his little hands for another blow.

Ron lunged, wrapping his long arms around the pureblood's trim little waist and tackling him to the floor. Ron punched and Draco flailed with an unreasonable fury and the whole thing ended almost before it really got started.

Somehow amidst the violence, Draco's skinny little arms had found their way round his neck and in place of choking as they had during other fights over the years, they simply held him. Ron could not get enough room to swing a proper punch and instead found himself gasping for breath and looking again into the palest of silver eyes.

"Let go." Ron breathed, trying to find a way to put some distance between them and failing miserably as those boney arms tightened to the point of becoming almost painful.

"You couldn't just apologize and save yourself could you?" He seethed softly.

"Never." Ron growled out, marveling at Malfoy's slight and hidden strength.

"You can't just submit and grovel like everyone else?" His little, pointy hands had found a way to tangle themselves tightly into Ron's mess of hair.

"Never." He repeated, trying not to pull against the tension being applied to his neck.

Malfoy did not reply and his previously furious expression had been replaced by the most disconcerting little smirk that set the base of Ron's spine tingling. He knew that sly expression and it had never meant anything good.

If anyone ever asked (though he prayed they never would, because that would mean that they somehow would know) Ron would have told them that Draco started it. He hoped that Draco had been the one to start it; the alternative was too horrible to even consider. One moment they had been held apart by only a hesitant breath and the next, that space had been stolen away in a kiss born more of violence instead of the traditional passion. Ron had never kissed anyone before this moment, nor did he know if he would ever want to kiss anyone else. It was not a gentle exchange, it was not kind and Ron had a feeling that the bruising would be memorable. It was that thought that pulled him away, gasping and flustered and more confused than he had ever felt before.

"What the hell, Malfoy?"

Draco looked up at him, the same rosy glow from breakfast returning to his perfect (though slightly bloodied from a split lip) face. His eyes seemed a little glassy, as if he was not looking up at Ron so much as past him. Ron became increasingly aware of the fact that he was laying on Malfoy in a tangle of limbs and confusion that he did not know how to escape. He searched his limited view of the room from his uncomfortable angle, but there was no help in sight.

As he felt the arms around his neck start to pull him back down he almost wished that they could go back to their fighting and name calling. He risked a wayward look back down at his captor with his determined eyes and reddened mouth. This was not what he wanted, Malfoy was not what he wanted… and yet he found himself leaning down until their lips met once more. It was not any more gentle the second time and though the situation repulsed him on an atomic level, part of Ron knew that this chance would never again present itself.

As the door to the room opened and Malfoy practically threw him off, one ear-ringing slap to the face then his sharp elbow catching Ron's nose. Then the string of filthy litanies started to fall around him, and Ron started to wonder why he had even wanted to claim that rare chance for his own. He sat dumbly on the floor, tasting blood and watching in confusion as Malfoy crawled into his bed, still swearing up a storm that would have given his Mother a coronary, and tightly closing the drapes behind him.

Justin stared wide eyed at Ron before coming over. "The Prefects told the two of you no fighting."

The anxiety and tension that had been building at the thought of being caught faded almost instantly. Justin had seen nothing and Ron was saved one last humiliation.

"Do you need to go to the Matron's office?" Justin was whispering and could hardly be heard over Draco's lingering curses.

"No, no. It's alright." Ron wiped the blood from his sore nose with a sleeve and gave a forced smile before scampering into bed and hiding behind the safety of his bed curtains and staring wide eyed up at the ceiling, feeling his blood racing, his heart pounding and his skin tingling.

What had he just done?


	6. The plan that went awry

an: I've got not good reason as to why this is so long in coming, but here it is, all 4,000+ words of it and hopefully now that I am in the thralls of summer I can find time to finish this badboy up.

* * *

><p>Draco slept peacefully that night, but still awoke groggy and bleary eyed the next morning to the sounds of his roommates readying themselves for a day at Hogsmead. He pressed his hands to his face and shuddered at the soreness. He could not remember at first why his lip felt as though it had been through a tenderizer or why the taste of old blood still lingered in the back of his nose and throat, but just like that, the night before came rushing back to him.<p>

He took in a long suffering breath and let his fingers probe his still swollen lip. He lay wide-eyed in bed, letting his thoughts chase each other while he struggled to abandon the feelings that now felt so alien to his mind.

Then he smiled.

Things had not gone according to the simply but scathing plan that he had crafted the previous afternoon. He had simply wanted to pick a fight with and gravely injure Weasley while no one was around to stop them.

Then the kiss had happened and rained ruin down upon his perfect plan. The memory of the clumsy passion brought a flush to his pale cheeks and his smile crept into a delightfully slimy smirk. Of course it had been Weasley who had initiated the rough and vile snogging, Malfoy had always suspected that the ginger had some sort of demented crush on him (most people did), but it had still come as a bit of a surprise that he would be crass enough to steal away a kiss like he had. It was the curse of being a Malfoy, for years he had seen his father having to deal with the misplaced man-crushes of colleagues and others with their delusional high hopes throwing themselves on his father during Christmas parties. Draco had always known that his turn to fend off his own overly affectionate admirers would come too soon.

The kiss with Weasley had been as repulsive as it had been startling, but in the glairing light of morning the throbbing bruises on his face gave birth to a new and cunning plan.

And oh what a plan it was.

It was possibly the best plan of his young life.

Today was the first Hogsmead trip of the year and Malfoy could think of no better day to initiate his masterpiece. His magnum opus. The complete undoing of a one, mister Ronald Weasley.

Draco gingerly touched his lip once more, savoring the light sting and the present reminder that his beautiful plan was already well underway. If he could not undo the reckless night before he may as well use it to his advantage.

He nodded firmly once, ran a hand through his hair to push it back into place, and got out of bed. He ignored the other boys milling about and gathered up his robes for the day.

As he carefully picked out a tie he heard a strange sound from the other side of the room. He fought down a smirk and slowly he looked over a shoulder to the source of the noise. There, standing as clumsily as if the action were something new to him, was the flame haired fool that had caused him so much annoyance over the years.

Ron was doing nothing more threatening than staring at him, his pale eyes wide and his mouth agape looking very much a victim of some wayward hex. Draco took a slow breath through his nose, fighting down the unexplainable heat he felt rising up his neck, collected a somber black tie and turned around to fully face the slack jawed Gryffindor.

"Is there a problem… Weasel?" His tone was as sharp as he could manage given the fact that he felt like grinning at his prey.

"Sod off, Malfoy." Ron's face matched his disheveled hair, his rapidly spreading blush practically obliterating his obnoxious freckles.

Justin stepped between them, disrupting Draco's line of sight. "Not today, guys. If the Prefects catch you two fighting you won't be able to go to Hogsmead." The Hufflepuff did not stay in the center of the room, but marched away after Michael Corner, down to get their breakfast and leaving the two enemies well and conveniently alone.

Draco sneered in their wake before turning his gaze back to Weasley who looked to be busying himself with finding a second sock. It was obvious that Ronald planned to leave the room as quickly as possible and a jolt of joy shot through Malfoy as he realized how easily he would be able to waylay the other boy.

"Listen here, Weasel. I'm not some knock-kneed, dreamy eyed, first year witch you can just use and push aside."

"You're not a-a what?" Ron had found his wayward sock and he clutched it tightly as if it would offer some sort of answer or protection from whatever was going on.

"Are you just going to try and pretend that last night didn't happen?" Draco watched in satisfaction as he saw Ron's blush somehow worsen.

Weasley was stumbling over his words in a rush. "You started that, Malfoy. I didn't-"

"ShhhShhhhShh-" Draco moved closer, invading the Gryffindor's personal space spectacularly and laid one long finger over Weasley's faltering lips. "There's no need to speak. We were both there; we both know what you did." Draco was fighting down the rising laughter he felt bubbling in the back of his throat at the look of confusion and alarm he watched blossoming over Ron's face. He spoke as sternly as he could manage given the current position they were in. "Meet me behind the Hogsmead post office at two and come alone."

"Whut?" Ron's eyes had never been wider and he seemed to be on the verge of a full blown panic attack at Draco's request.

Malfoy let his finger trail slowly down Ron's lips to his chin where he deftly pushed upwards, closing the gawping mouth which offended and at the same time stirred up a funny sort of feeling in the pit of his stomach that had nothing to do with his master plan. "Did I stutter?" Draco pressed in closer, until their chest's brushed and he felt Weasley tremble against him.

"You-I- you've gone barking mad." Ron squirmed past him, collected his shoes in a rush and practically ran from the room without so much as a backwards glance.

Draco allowed himself to finally let free the laughter he had been holding in for what felt far too long. Weasley had not even put up a fight, all previous aggression seemed to have melted away in the waves of panic. It was such a beautiful plan and Draco knew with confidence that he could drag this game on for years if he wanted, and it would be well worth the effort just to watch Weasley squirm.

He dressed with a grin on his face and made his way down to the Great Hall for breakfast with a bounce in his step.

.

.

.

Draco had never any intention of meeting up behind the post office, but instead enjoyed lounging in the Three Broomsticks across the street with a few fellow Slytherins and watching the outside through the gleaming windows. He did catch sight of what might have been Ron, or one of his redheaded, scarecrow shaped brothers amidst a crowd of Gryffindors as they made their way down the street but he could not be positive who it was. Draco could just barely make out the wide doors of the owl filled postal facility down the street and was disappointed to see the mop of red hair calmly avoid the whole building.

He glanced at the large clock on the wall over the bar and finished the last dredges of his drink before getting to his feet.

Goyle looked up at him with his little, piggy eyes. "Are we going back?"

"No." Draco felt his lip curl in annoyance and walked out of the crowded pub, not caring wither or not his usual cronies followed him into the street. He had a feeling he knew where to find his unfortunate target and as it was nearly three o'clock it was high time that Malfoy had a word with him.

Sure enough, as Draco pressed his way into Honeydukes he saw Ronald with his worthless friends drooling before an outrageously large display of chocolate frogs. He stood beside the door, biding his time, waiting for the right moment to strike. He watched as the Gryffindor trio purchased a hefty armful of sweets and made their way to the exit, seemingly unaware of Draco waiting in the midst of the crowd. He caught Ron's eye easily and had to once again fight down a smile as he watched the instant recognition and horror cross the freckled face. Weasley averted his gaze quickly, looking as if he were quite desperate to hide his reaction from his friends.

Draco could not keep the corner of his mouth turning up gleefully. It was almost too easy. One sharp pinch in a crowded room and Ron whirled around, hands shielding his backside from any further onslaught. He stared at Draco in disbelief and quickly hurried after Granger's large mess of hair as she and Potter left the sweet shop.

Draco chuckled softly to himself. No one else had seen the stealthy attack and he doubted if Weasley would have the courage to tell anyone the fate that had befallen his unguarded rear.

It was all too easy.

.

.

.

The plan for that night was just as simple as the afternoon's. A little covert wink to the other side of the Great Hall during dinner and he knew by the look Weasley gave him in return that the night would prove fruitful. It was apparent to Draco that he would not need to push much harder, that the Gryffindor was already on the edge and it would only take a few more well timed smiles and stealthy touches before Ron had to be admitted to the hospital wing or something else equally pleasing. When the little scheme had presented its self to Malfoy that morning he had not counted on it being so easy to get under the other boy's skin.

After meal Draco went to the library to get a bit of revision in. He did not fancy the idea of attempting homework in the Gryffindor common room and he did so enjoy the thought that somewhere Weasley was worrying about where he was and what might happen the next time they were together. Draco became so engrossed with the idea of Ron waiting for him, and what he would say and do to the be-speckled boy, that very little homework was actually accomplished.

Before he had become aware of the passage of time Madam Pince was shooing students from the library and in a sort of jarring realization Draco heard the clock chiming eleven. He collected up his still blank homework scrolls and made his way up to his temporary dormitory with a the last vestiges of unspeakable daydreams playing through his thoughts. Draco was unsure when his mind had decided to drift away from thoughts of taunting Weasley to thoughts of the night before and what would have happened if Justin had not interrupted them… or if they found themselves in a similar situation again this night with no one around to stop them. Draco shuttered at the idea, trying to shake off the traitorous and lewd thoughts. He did not know why he kept having them, but he was overly aware of where they were coming from.

His mother always read too many romance novels over the summers, often leaving the tawdry paperbacks shamelessly laying about and somewhere in his youth Draco had read a little too deeply into the adventures of the devilishly handsome Count Yasidro and try as Draco might, as he passed through the common rooms and mounted the stairs to the boy's dormitory, he could not expel from his mind the chapter in which the Count had cornered the defiant and sensual young witch, Anabella and then what transpired between the two on the velvet settee. Except it was no longer Anabella and Yasidro commencing in such illicit acts, their parts were now being played by the stupid faced Weasley and himself.

Draco paused with a hand gripping the door handle to his room and he forced a deep breath past his tight throat, exhaling the confusing and unwanted musings far from his mind. He would not be Anabella. He had no repressed passions welling up inside his bosom. He did not even think that he had a bosom.

He pulled the door open and tossed aside his book bag, not caring if anything inside was rumpled. He had made up his mind. It would be better to let Weasley linger awhile longer in ignorance. It would be more amusing to Draco to prolong the suffering by just ignoring the other boy until morning. At least that is what Malfoy was telling himself, though he knew in truth it was partially because he did not think that he could trust himself at that moment.

So with an air of confidence he did not give the room as much as a second glance before digging into his trunk and pulling out his night clothes.

"I got an Agrippa card today." Weasley's voice hit him like a spill of cold water down his back.

He stiffened, his fingers fumbling over the buttons of his robe and Draco struggled to pull his thoughts back in order. He felt his face fall easily into the comfortable and familiar lines of the sneer he had practiced in front of mirrors for years. "How lovely for you." He shot a simpering look over his shoulder. "Perhaps you can sell it and buy yourself some robes that actually fit you."

Ron was perched on the edge of his bed dressed in nothing more than a pair of flannel pants that showed too much ankle and a faded maroon tee-shirt that clung tightly to his long torso. "Oh, haha." He flicked a shock of his unpleasantly orange hair from his eyes. "Do you want the card or not, you little rat?"

Malfoy felt a wave of anger rising in him. He should not have let up on his tormenting so soon, it had obviously given Weasley a chance to get cocky. "And why the hell would I want your chocolate frog card?" Draco let his eyes scan the room quickly and he was partially pleased to see that they were alone. He had no idea where Justin and Michael were so late at night, and was unsure how much time him and Weasley would have alone.

"Because you traded me your Agrippa card a few days ago." Ron had a strangely misplaced look of confidence on his face that should have keyed Malfoy into the fact that something was not right, but he was too busy being distracted by the way that Ron's hair clashed with his shirt.

Draco forced his face to stay neutral and moved over to Weasley's side of the room, allowing (just for a moment) for his eyes to wander over the boy that he loathed so much, because he knew that such a leer should cause some minor distress at the very least. "And what do you want from me?" Draco's mind was spinning. He had always been good at thinking on his feet but he seemed to be having difficulties in recalling the well contrived lines that he had spent so much time rehearsing.

"You pinched my arse today." A blush crept over his cheeks and reddened his ears. "And I don't know what else you have planned since the-the…since last night." He did not seem to be able to meet Draco's eyes. "But if you want the card you better keep your bloody hands off me."

"Weaselbee, you're the one who threw me to the floor and snogged me to the point of bruising, and you have the nerve to tell me to keep my hands to myself?"

"I-I what?" Ron stood, looking horror-struck and almost angry.

Draco felt his own confidence piqué again. It was still just as easy to upset Weasley as it always had been. He started to repeat himself, much slower this time, "You threw me to the floor-"

"And I punched you in the face." Ron interrupted loudly as if trying to convince them both that he was not at fault. "You're the one who suddenly got… all… all 'Mister Big Hands' on me."

Draco felt his glare falter for a moment as a smile threatened to steal away his confidence. "What did you just call me?"

"Did I stutter?" Ron squared his shoulders, seeming to take strength in being able to use Malfoy's own words against him.

The next day Malfoy would blame Ron. He would swear up and down to himself that it was the Gryffindor who had started it, because Draco Malfoy was not the sort of young man to be so easily aroused, especially not by such gruff and disrespectful manners.

Before either of them seemed to be able to grasp what was going on, Draco's thin, pale arms were tightly wrapped around Weasley's neck, forcing him down from his greater height so that their lips could meet in the same manner of frantic and clumsy passion as the night before. Draco could feel the chapped lips against his not yielding, he could feel the strong hands trying to find purchase on his shoulders, the loose robes against his sides, even his silken hair, all in an effort to dislodge him, but Draco had the lower center of gravity, he had a better grip, and what was more his reactions were not dulled by a mounting panic.

Draco pulled back enough to get a much needed breath and he let his hazy gaze study the liberally freckled face over his own. "Are you just going to stand there all night or are you going to kiss me?" He kept his hands tightly tangled in the mop of red hair, not giving the other boy a chance to get away.

"You've really lost it, Malfoy." Ron was shaking slightly (though Draco did not think it was with suppressed rage or unguarded fear but more with a hardly restrained lust) and his hands seemed a bit lost where they still clung to his hair and the collar of his robes.

There were sounds coming towards their room, sounds that seemed suspiciously like the voices of their Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff roommates. Draco let his gaze flick to the door and back to his captive.

"Get on the bed and keep your mouth shut." Malfoy hissed between his teeth.

"Not on your life." Weasley moved against him, making as if to resume struggling for freedom once more. But being caught in such a delicately compromising position was not anywhere near Malfoy's plans for the evening.

Taking a quick breath to brace himself for the pain, Draco rammed their heads together, catching the Gryffindor successfully off guard with the sudden crash of pain and providing a moment of unsteadiness in which Draco was able to shove him backwards. He clambered onto the bed after the still shocked looking boy and jerked the curtains closed just as the bedroom door swung open.

"Oh, Ron's already in bed." Michael whispered before mumbling a quiet goodnight to Justin followed by the hushed sounds of the boys dressing for bed and the ensuing darkness as one of them put the light out.

Draco had a hand clamped over Ron's mouth to keep him quiet and though he could not see him through the veil of midnight wrapped around them, he could still feel the volatile glair as well as the hot gasped breaths against his skin. The darkness made the other boy's movements a mystery and Draco felt a thrum of delighted shock as he felt hands trail clumsily up his arms and grip his shoulders before roughly pulling him down to the caress of the lumpy mattress and disheveled blankets.

There came a soft but quick inhale from Ron's mouth still beneath the pale hand and Draco hushed him in a hurry before the Gryffindor could say whatever he was reading himself for. At this very moment being caught was the last thing that he wanted. He slowly removed his hand, thrilling at the feel of soft skin beneath his fingers and whispered another shush. He was laying on his side, face half hidden in blankets that reeked of Gryffindors and the soft but unmistakable scent that belonged to Ron. It was not a place he ever had planned on being but the longer he laid there, feeling the warmth of the other boy against his chest the more he did not wish to leave their shelter.

Ron's hands still gripped his narrow shoulders, the long fingers and wide palms covering far more space than Draco felt that they should. Hot, and slightly minty breath stirred his hair that had fallen out of place and lips roughly found his left eyebrow, arching cheek bone, edge of his narrow nose and finally his mouth. The kisses seemed less frantic, though somehow more tense and awkward than moments or even the night before.

The maroon t-shirt twisted easily in Draco's hands and his fingers brushed over tense stomach muscles. The kisses stopped long enough for Ron to breath the word "Don't-"

"Shut up." Draco growled and crushed their lips back together, loving the completely indecent and sinful feeling of what he was doing. His fingers traced over a stomach that he could not see but remembered to be a white as fresh snow and just as freckled as the arms that were pulling him closer.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Draco's good scenes were screaming, crying out in a panic, trying to convince him to get off the bed and pretend that there was no thrilling heat building in his stomach and slowly filling him. It might have been that the years of hatred that had come so easily to him had always been some form of over compensation for other feelings, or perhaps he was just fourteen and had more hormones and emotions bubbling up inside of him-begging for a way out that he had no other choice.

Draco wracked his mind for what Anabella had done after the Count had thrown her down on the settee, but his thoughts were fleeing before him and it became increasingly difficult to form cohesive ideas much less remember dewy, sensual scenes from a book he had read years before. His hands were sweating where they still clung to Ron's shirt, he was too warm, he was too close to the other boy. He struggled to find the strength to pull away from the increasing slower and more curious kisses and found the effort much harder than he would have liked. This was not at all part of his plan. '_Sod the plan_' he thought desperately as he heard Weasley softly gasping for breath, his broad chest brushing his own with each inhale.

"If you tell anyone about this, I will kill you." Draco felt the words coming out before he even really thought them through.

"Why the bloody hell would I want to tell anyone about this?" Ron was laughing softly into his hair and Draco snarled slightly at the fact that someone would mock him.

"Pride? Bragging rights?" Draco knew that anyone be a fool not to give their wand for a chance to trade places with the bumbling Gryffindor that moment.

"A new deal, since you didn't take my last one." Ron whispered into the darkness. "We never speak of this… EVER. It's just stress or something and it never happened."

A perfectly reasonable offer that Draco could not pass up. "Agreed." The muscles beneath his hands were still taunt and part of him wondered if Ron was in fact ticklish. He let his hands explore slowly, grinning at the strange little noise that he drew out of the other boy.

"Knock it off, Malfoy." He shifted slightly, but was too tangled in limbs and fabric to beat a full retreat. "Get back in your own bed, you git."

"Make me, Wesel." He had no intention of leaving. This was most definitely the farthest he had gone with anyone before in his short life and he intended to leave the evening with a story that his father would be proud of (of course when he wrote home about this the name, house and gender of his exploration would be changed, but that was inconsequential). He found the other boy's mouth again and was more than pleased to feel the immediate and thrillingly positive response.

His mind had had long enough to clear and another plan had time to bud. He remembered more of that stupid book but he knew that he could not mimic such actions. It was as simple as a matter of their plumbing being wrong. Neither of them was a woman and he knew from the awkward talk he had received years before from his parents that certain things were needed for the purpose of… making babies. But that was not his current intention. He just wanted the glowing golden moment of ecstasy that his mother's books had ingrained in his mind. He tried to recall other bits of those steamy scenes, ones that did not involve things like _love canals_ or _heaving breasts_ and in the end decided that the book was compiled of completely unhelpful rubbish and he was on his own.

He had no idea where to go from here and it did not surprise him that Weasley seemed just as lost. Draco simply kissed him, like he had always wanted to, and even the shock of that realization was not enough to derail him from his actions.

Clumsy kisses lead to clumsy touching, with hands searching inexpertly for places neither of them could pinpoint or name. That beautiful moment that Draco had been hoping for did not come as he expected, there was no mounting, life changing passion, just a hand slipped too far south of his hip and with that brief and fleeting contact of skin against skin he came completely undone, gasping and clinging to Ron, only to fall asleep moments later against the broad and warm chest beneath his cheek.


	7. The curse of the wandering hands

*cough* I'm... I'm just gunna put this right here... *runs away into the night*

* * *

><p>Ron awoke feeling- for lack of a better word- good, all boneless and warm and at peace with the world. He clumsily gripped at his blanket, tugging it further up, event to his chin and rolling over, he had no intention of getting up anytime soon. But there was a wrench in his plan. A slight, angular, platinum wrench just laying there beside him and just like that, the half awake fog receded from Ron's mind and he remembered the night before with as much revulsion as could be expected.<p>

_What did I do?_

But he knew what he had done.

_Why did I-_ he could not even let himself finish the thought. He knew exactly why he had let things go as far as they had the night before, but there was no way in hell that he was even going to put words to that particular vein of thought.

He looked uneasily at the boy still sleeping quietly beside him, hair a mess and lips slightly parted and had to fight a strong desire to press their mouths together. The fact that he found himself leaning closer was enough to make him feel the beginning threads of panic winding their way through his stomach.

He needed to get up.

Carefully, slowly, he tried to untangle himself from his bed. The blankets were not a problem so much as the one long arm around his waist that seemed to keep him anchored to his spot. Try as he might to gently shift the limb, it only made the other boy stir, then tuck himself closer, head now resting against Ron's chest, and all thoughts of escape were obliterated by how nice Draco's hair smelled.

Ronald Weasley had it bad, he just did not realize how bad yet.

Draco was starting to stir, his arm tightening its grip on his captive and he yawned softly, hot breath tickling at Ron's neck. The Gryffindor could almost see him waking in stages, could almost guess the exact thoughts and emotions running through the other boy, even though he could not see his face clearly.

It was all in the shoulders, Ron decided.

Draco was languid, giving a small stretch, his shoulders hunching forward then back only to relax and settle. There was another little yawn and he adjusted his head where it lay, seeking a more comfortable place on Ron's boney ribs. Then he stiffened, shoulders and back going rigid and it was then that he seemed to be fully aware that he was half laying on a person, not just a bed. Slowly, moving like in the midst of a nightmare, Draco looked up and Ron knew that the look of abject horror was echoed in his own expression.

"Oh… hell." And for some reason that was Draco's whole offering of words- as if those two syllables had any chance of summarizing the horrible tragedy of the night before.

On second thought, Ron sort of felt the same.

Maybe those words were enough.

They detached from each other with startling speed, sitting up and glaring from opposing sides of bed. Ron distantly noted that Draco's shirt as mostly undone, showing a long slash of pale skin hardly a shade darker than the wrinkled white shirt he wore. He really noticed little else other than that peepshow of skin and somewhere in the recesses of his mind there was panic.

"Don't just sit there dribbling all over yourself." Draco seemed much more capable of forming what sounded an awful lot like sentences- though Ron was struggling to discern any meaning.

Draco developed a slight blush, apparently not liking the way that Ron was sitting there speechless- eyeing him. "Look, Weasley, we agreed last night. We never talk about this- to anyone- ever." And strangely those were the words that fought their way into Ron's consciousness and gave him the kick start he had so desperately needed.

"R-Right." Ron felt the sounds tumble from his lips and they tasted strange to him, almost like a foreign language. "As if I would ever want to admit any of… that," he gestured vaguely to the tangle of blankets between them, "ever happened." He ran a hand through his hair, looking up at the ugly curtain that surrounded his bed. "Though, I am blaming you."

"Excuse me?" That shaken, traumatized look was melting away from Draco's suddenly angry face.

"Well, it's your fault- isn't it? You're the one goin' round, shoving blokes onto beds and bashing lips together. You started it."

Draco's pale eyes widened slightly in either shock or anger and his lips became a thin, tense line. He did not answer and for one frightful second Ron feared that he had just made one of the most grievous mistakes of his young life. He did not know what Malfoy was about to do to him, but undoubtedly it was going to hurt- but instead Ron received a second shock in too short a time since waking.

The pureblood raised one hand in a very rude gesture (that Ron did not know Draco even knew about) and, pushing the curtains aside, left the shelter of the bed they had shared.

.:.

"Ronald, you missed the big announcement." Hermione beamed at him as he sulked down beside Harry.

Ron was late to breakfast. He had been forced to hide in his bed until he was sure that the room was empty of roommates. He didn't know what was wrong with him- but it was something that felt bad, somewhere in the pit of his stomach, like he had eaten five éclairs too many or was waiting for his term grades to be sent to his parents and knowing full well that they would not be pleased to see the marks he had received.

"School's been canceled?" Ron asked hopefully while picking some biscuits and sausage from the steaming plates lain out before them.

"They finished draining the dungeons." Harry said with a wry grin, clapping him on the back. "You're free from the Slytherin menace."

"It will be nice to be back in Gryffindor." Hermione added. "Though Hufflepuff really was very welcoming- very warm and … homey." She finished with a smile.

Ron looked up from his untouched food. "T-that's… that's bloody brilliant." And even if the tone of his voice was not cooperating, he _really_ did mean it.

"We thought you'd be happy, Ronnikins." Fred was suddenly looming over his younger brother, wearing what looked like a carefully crafted look of concern, only it never reached his eyes.

"After what happened between you and Malfoy we thought you'd been quite keen to see him go." George finished for his twin, looking equally worried for their younger brother, his eyes just as gleefully giving away his real feelings about this whole thing.

"What happened?"

"Ron, have you been fighting _again_?"

"I didn't mean to- hands just wander on their own sometimes."

Harry, Hermione and Ron all spoke at once and then they all got really quiet at once as well.

Fred and George exchanged an unnamable look then suddenly wore matching grins as they looked down at their baby brother like a pack of wolves would look at a particularly helpless lamb.

Harry seemed to be looking at him very oddly as well, but Ron had no good allegory to describe _that_ particular expression.

"His roommates walked in on the two of them _fighting_ Thursday night." George chose his words carefully.

"It's been going around that Malfoy gave him a right good slap." Fred nodded solemnly as if the two were confiding in each other and not standing in the middle of the dining hall during breakfast.

"Perhaps Ronald got a little too… cheeky." George suggested.

"Or perhaps his mouth finally got the better of him." Fred was trying not to laugh now, and doing a dismal job at it.

Ron had no idea how much his older brothers knew, but he did know that he had completely cocked it up by jumping to conclusions on what they meant about '_happenings'_ between him and Draco. Even if all they meant was that the two boys had engaged in fisticuffs, that was not where their thoughts or insinuations seemed to be dwelling now.

"Sod off." He grumbled, hoping that they would just go away and knowing at the same time that it was very unlikely.

"Don't talk to your brothers that way." Hermione chided. She wore a look of confusion and worry and it was just like her to find fault with Ron's language in the midst of this. Somehow it was nice to know that even if everything else went to hell, Hermione would probably never change.

It was almost comforting.

"Yeah, you might hurt our feelings." Fred placed a hand over his heart and the imaginary pain there.

"What feelings?" Ron upgraded his glair to a glower, fighting down the fear he felt inside, hoping that none of it showed. What had happened last night was nothing he was proud of, and certainly nothing that he intended to share with his obnoxious brothers- or anyone else. He would prefer to just pretend that none of it ever happened.

"You wound me to the core, sir." Fred wiped an imaginary tear from his still laughing eyes and allowed himself to be lead away down the length of the tables by his counterpart, both feigning sorrow, making far too much noise and drawing the attention of some of the other Houses towards the Gryffindor table.

"What was that all about?" Harry watched them go, holding a fork limply in one hand and looking at Ron in a way that spoke volumes. And the heavy fear that lived in Ron's gut suddenly grew because that look meant that his best friend knew something was up.

"Did you and Malfoy really get into another fight, Ron?" Hermione butted in and before Ron could even attempt an answer she was barreling on ahead. "You know what sort of trouble you'll get in if you get caught. It's not worth getting expelled over someone like him.-" and she was once more off on one of her notoriously long winded lectures and Ron was granted the chance to catch his breath and avoid eye contact with anyone.

It was Saturday, so the afternoon was pleasantly devoid of any classes, and allowed time for students to shuffle their belongings back to their proper rooms. Ron spent as much time possible in avoiding helping Harry move his things, that he actually offered to help Hermione drag her trunk up from the hallway beside the kitchen where he found her while he shunned getting his own things from his temporary room.

She had seemed positively stricken by the offer of help and allowed him to carry a stack of her books as she prattled on about the Tri-Wizard tournament in which Harry was still not making any attempt of progress with his egg, and the two walked side by side up the shifting staircase.

Ron was strangely grateful for the trip to normalcy after the bizarre week he had just been through, even if he had a difficult time keeping up his end of the conversation. He was just lucky that his friend enjoyed talking so much that she hardly took note of his uncharacteristic silence.

Sure, Harry being in the tournament was exciting and all, thrilling in fact- it was the sort of excitement that Ron normally lived for- but all he could think about was that stupid Draco Malfoy and his stupid face, and his stupid mouth… and how stupidly nice he had smelled, and how soft his hair had been…

Before he knew it, they were back in the Gryffindor common room and Hermione was taking her books from his arms and offering a thank you for which he replied with a mumbled something or other, all the while looking about in a way he hoped was inconspicuous, to see if he could see a familiar pointed, pale face in the crowd of lingering students.

He thought he saw a glimpse of his roommate-no-longer leaving the room, but Ron couldn't be sure without following after him or shouting his name and neither were actions he was willing to take.

Begrudgingly he made his way up to the room that he had spent the last week in and was in the midst of collecting his few belongings that had made it out of his trunk when he got that prickling feeling up his neck that normally accompanied someone watching him. He assumed the worst, and with how things had been going the last week no one could really blame him for it.

He took a bracing breath, steeled himself and turned around, suspecting to be faced with Malfoy and knowing full well that he still had no idea what to say in the face of what they had done the night before. Somehow saying 'I know it was wrong, and I'm almost sure I still hate your guts- but do you wanna' nip off for a quick cuddle' didn't feel like it would go over well. Neither would 'you smell really good- you know, for a condescending prick'.

But somehow the universe at large still deemed him worthy to shine down a little mercy and it was Harry standing in the doorway, watching Ron with a complicated expression.

"H-hey." Ron rubbed the back of his neck and tried to smile. "You get all your stuff moved already?"

"Yeah. You need any help?" And without waiting for an answer he came over and started helping Ron get his things tucked back into his truck. Despite anything else that anyone could say, Harry was a good friend.

It took them almost no time to pack and drag the trunk back to their old room and settled at the foot of Ron's old bed. From the looks of it the other boys had already got their stuff put back in place and everything looked the same as it had before the impromptu changing of rooms.

Harry flopped onto his own bed and smiled in his bright and open way. "It's good to be back, isn't it?"

"It really is." And for whatever it was worth, Ron wasn't lying. It didn't matter that he had spent a whole week just down the hall from here- this was his home away from home. He knew the stains on the rug and the haphazard angle of Neville's trunk. It was familiar and good.

"It must have been a real nightmare being cooped up with Malfoy for a whole week. I don't know how you managed."

Ron swallowed roughly and shrugged it off, going and rifling through his trunk, getting out little things he thought he might need in the next few days. "It could have been worse."

"Worse? The fact that you got through it without having to pummel the git is a bloody miracle, Ron. You deserve a plaque or something." Harry smiled at Ron, looking for some kind of response. "It'll say 'For suffering the insufferable- with minimal bloodshed'."

Ron knew his smile was weak, so he opted to just keep avoiding eye contact. And Harry was sort of right, Ron had been through a rough spot and made it out with minimal collateral damage- but he couldn't shake the feeling that admitting to the horror of his room arrangements would somehow be like lying to his best friend… and Ron had never been too good at lying.

Sure, it had mostly been a week of arguing and frustration, but it hadn't been all bad.

Last night hadn't been all bad.

Even admitting it to himself was a bit frightening.

"Everything all right, Ron?"

And suddenly Ron became aware that Harry had been talking the whole while. He flashed a grin. "Yeah, sorry. I'm just tired." He might not have been good at lying, but lame excuses came naturally to him.

Harry was giving him a suspicious look, hands clasp together on his lap, knee jostling unconsciously while he watched his friend.

Ron felt an uncomfortable flush creeping up his neck and he returned to looking for a match for the sock in his hands.

"It's been going around that you two were fighting and got caught… more than once."

"It wasn't anything out of the ordinary." Ron tried to shrug it off.

There was a general bustling noise coming up from the common room, covering the more uncomfortable part of the silence that started to settle between them. People were down there, laughing, talking, enjoying their Saturday.

Probably all of them were happy to be home with their friends.

Probably none of them had engaged in an awkward fumble with their nemesis while they were away for the week.

Ron found that he was quite jealous of those people downstairs.

Harry broke the quiet gently, choosing his words slowly and with care. "So… is that what you were talking about during breakfast?"

"What?" Ron's attention snapped back to his dark haired friend.

"You said something about... hands." Harry looked at him quizzically, his eyes bright and cautious behind his round glasses. "Did you mean that the two of you had been _fighting_?" That last word was said strangely, holding extra weight, like it meant more than it normally would- but by the odd expression on Harry's face he almost certainly did not know what else it could mean… just that something was amiss.

"He stole one of my frog cards." Ron began weakly. "It just sort of escalated from there."

And Harry nodded slowly, as if this made some king of sense to him. He knew about Ron's card collection. "But nothing serious happened, right? No trips to the medical wing?"

"Not outside the trouble in Potions class." Ron's mouth felt dry and he found he was still having trouble making or keeping eye contact. He wasn't even lying for the most part. And it really shouldn't be so difficult to simply NOT shout out that he might have snogged and gotten very handsy with Draco Malfoy last night and it had actually been kind of nice in a surreal and disturbing and very mentally scarring kind of way.

"We just… you know. Normal Malfoy stuff. He wasn't any more of a prick than normal. I survived."

"Ron," Harry started and then seemed to think better of it and simply shook his head, rising to his feet. "When you're ready to talk about it- I mean, if you ever want to…" He smiled, a haphazard, loose grin and clasp Ron on the shoulder. "Weird things happen sometimes and even if you can't talk about it-" He shrugged and his smile never wavered. "You're still my best mate."

Ron looked down at Harry and felt a knot of dread tighten in his chest.

Harry's eyes were kind, but his smile was still a little wild. "And you might want to think about wearing a scarf to cover up that bruise."

It was sound advice and Ron felt all the color drain from his face as he raised a hand to his neck as if he would be able to feel any imperfection left behind from last night.

"It's an odd sort of bruise." His friend observed in gentle way.

"He punched me in the neck." Ron said quickly.

"With his mouth?"

Ron's face got hot and he knew he must be as red as his hair. He mumbled something incoherent with many vowel sounds and Harry gave his shoulder a tight squeeze.

"Things happen. And it could have been worse."

It was like a dam broke in Ron, and the words just came spilling out. "Worse? It was Malfoy!" And for Ron that was the big deal. Sure he had his first real kiss and it had escalated quickly, but it didn't seem to matter so much that it hadn't been with a girl- just that it had been with Malfoy of all people.

He hated Draco and for so many good reasons that they did not bear counting. But Ron… part of him already missed the stupid Slytherin. A bigger part than he wanted to acknowledge, and that was a part of him that regretted the dungeons being drained. That hated that it hadn't taken longer for the Teachers to get the school back in order. That wished that they had at least one more night together.

It was a traitorous part of his mind that refused to listen to reason.

And Ron found that he hated that part of himself.

"Yeah… I mean, I see your point. Malfoy is a total pratt, but-" he shrugged again. "We all sort of knew that your first time would be with a bloke so-"

"Come again?" Ron was sure he hadn't heard right. "What do you mean _we all knew_? Who's we?"

"Don't worry about it. Your brothers explained it to me at the start of the summer." Harry confided softly, in an almost conspiratorial way. "And it doesn't bother me, Ron."

Ron's brain sort of shuttered to a stop and he found that he could not remember how to make words. His brothers had told Harry… told Harry _what_ exactly? That Ron fancied blokes? Because Ron didn't… did he?

Harry tugged on his arm. "Come on, we don't want to be late for lunch. Hermione's probably waiting for us."

Ron wasn't sure what to think anymore. Maybe he did like guys… maybe it was just Malfoy- and that was sort of a life altering notion.

He liked Draco Malfoy.

But he realized in some strange part of himself that it didn't really matter. Harry was still his best friend, and if Harry could be ok with this, why couldn't Ron?

He found himself grinning as he followed Harry back down stairs to the impatiently waiting Hermione.


End file.
